'Here they are, said Dr Fagan. 'This is the statement you are to forward to the Home Secretary, and a duplicate for the Governor of the prison. Shall I read them to you?
' 'Sh'all right! said the surgeon.
'They merely state that you operated on the patient for appendicitis, but that he died under the anaesthetic without regaining consciousness.
'Poor ole chap! said the surgeon. 'Poor, poor l'il girl! And two tears of sympathy welled up in his eyes. 'I daresay the world had been very hard on her. It's a hard world for women.
'That's all right, said Sir Alastair. 'Don't worry. You did all that was humanly possible.
'That's the truth, said the surgeon, 'and I don't care who knows it.
'This is the ordinary certificate of death, said Dr Fagan. 'Will you be so good as to sign it there?
'Oh, death, where is thy sting‑a‑ling‑a‑ling? said the surgeon, and with these words and a laboured effiort of the pen he terminated the legal life of Paul Pennyfeather.
'Splendid! said Sir Alastair. 'Now here's your money. If I were you I should run off and have a drink while the pubs are still open.
'D'you know, I think I will, said the surgeon, and left the sanatorium.